


Nightingale

by Biting Words (Reyna_is_epic)



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - No Grimm, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate universe - everyone lives in atlas, Atlas Government is corrupt, F/F, Faunus Weiss Schnee, Freezerburn - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Ironwood is dumb, Maybe - Freeform, Mob Boss! Ruby, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Trauma, Winter is a good sister, idk - Freeform, political corruption au, she's just bad at communication, slowburn, sorta - Freeform, wait no thats cannon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyna_is_epic/pseuds/Biting%20Words
Summary: Because, despite all pretences, despite how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, she knew the unfortunate truth: this wasn’t a home. It wasn’t even a room.It was a prison.Oh, a beautiful prison, sure. All of her furniture pieces, the bed, the chairs, hell, even the damn chess table, were ornate, hand-carved and painted to the point of perfection. The walls, underneath the ridiculous amount of stuff over them, were a beautiful pattern of snowflakes and trees she’d begged for when she was five. The window, as covered as it was, was host to one of the greatest views in all of Atlas: the mountains and city of mantle far below and far removed from the scenery that she was currently surrounded.But it was a prison nonetheless.____OR the one where the Schnees are hiding a terrible secret, Winter will go to whatever lengths necessary in order to save her sister, and Yang is in way over her head.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna & Ruby Rose & Weiss Schnee & Yang Xiao Long, Ruby Rose & Yang Xiao Long, Weiss Schnee & Winter Schnee, Weiss Schnee/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 2
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

Ruby had seen a lot of things in her life, but this constituted as one of the weirdest.

Atlas was a tough, tight ship, run to an almost painful degree of perfection. To an outside observer, it was utopia. Perfection in human form: a society that had no hitches, no lags, no fights, no problems. Atlas was the city of dreams, the city of men.

From the inside, it was a city of chaos.

That wasn’t the weird part though. No, of course it wasn’t. Fake perfection was par for the course when it came to human nature and she’d known that since she could pronounce the words. 

No, what was weird was the sight before her:

Winter Schnee, eldest child of the Schnee line and General Ironwood’s personal protégé, was sat before her, bound by her hands and ankles with a blindfold pulled tight around her skull.

Ruby couldn’t help but feel as if she were in a dream.

“She just showed up…?” Blake asked from her right side. The two-way mirror into the interrogation room was the only thing keeping her from hearing them, but even then Ruby had her doubts. She’d read reports on Winter’s performance at Atlas academy and all of them painted her as the top of her class. If she’d found their hideout on her own, well that was one thing, but she’d let herself get captured.

She didn’t doubt that was on purpose.

“Yeah,” Yang answered from her left, leant against the doorway with her arms crossed. Her sister had never completely grown out of her worry-wart phase. Always chasing after Ruby with a reprimand in hand and a scolding on the tip of her tongue. She’d find it more annoying if it weren’t the only parenting she’d ever gotten. “Didn’t even put up a fight. She just walked in through the front door and demanded an audience with the ‘Rose’.”

The exaggerated finger quotes around her name were  _ slightly  _ annoying.

“Keep her tied up,” Ruby decided, straightening her posture, “and take her on a ride. You know the drill, but when you’re done bring her to the south building. I’ll meet you in the old office.”

One of Yang’s brows rose.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Blake voiced the thought.

“If she’d wanted out she would’ve gotten out by now,” Ruby argued, soft.

Blake’s brows furrowed.

“That’s worrying…” A frown pulled down at the corners of Yang’s lips. “And you still want to talk to her?”

Ruby nodded.

“She’s risked a lot coming here, I want to know why.”

  
~

Winter wouldn’t call herself a risk-taker, but in hindsight, she could see several choices throughout her life that would argue the opposite.

Openly fighting her father’s plans for her future, going to Atlas academy, the ridiculous lengths she went to in order to get herself disowned by her parents, rising through the ranks of the Atlesian military… all of it could’ve gone horribly wrong if she’d been just a smidge less careful. Just a toe off of the highwire she’d walked as long as she could remember and she’d have gone tumbling right back down.

She supposed that if she were to fall now her father wouldn’t be the grasping hands she fell into, but rather something akin to either death or poverty. That was at least some improvement.

Regardless, the predicament she found herself in at the moment was… certainly a product of her own recklessness. That didn’t really matter, things had already gone too far for her to even think about backing out. 

The van (at least she assumed that’s what they’d shoved her into given the rattling of wheels on concrete and the roar of an engine) finally came to a stop. Not a moment too soon either, she was certain she’d lose her lunch if she had to endure more of the wild twists and turns they’d taken in an effort to make her lose her bearings.

She was escorted from the car by two grunts. Their grips on her upper arms weren’t very tight, more a warning than anything else _. _

She’d known what she was tangling with the moment she’d walked through the door.

She was paraded through a set of corridors, into an elevator, then, after precisely four dings, walked down three more halls. Finally, she heard the creaking of a door’s hinges and she was settled in the plush comfort of an armchair.

“Release her bonds.” A voice said, feminine.

The hands that had held her made quick work of the ropes tied around her arms before reaching up and tugging off the blindfold violently.

Winter blinked against the light, struggling to get her eyes to adjust to the sudden absence of pressure.

“Leave us.” The same feminine voice ordered and Winter watched as the two grunts, a tall blonde man and a slightly shorter Mistralian, filed out of the room. She heard the lock click behind them.

“Miss Schnee,” Winter’s head whipped back to the voice, and found herself staring down a woman around her age with the biggest mane of blonde hair she’d ever seen in her life. Her expression was etched in stone, a scowl that could move mountains. “How can I help you?”

For a moment Winter stared, unsure how to respond. The woman stared back, unblinking.

“Is this some kind of joke?” She asked finally.

The woman cocked her head to the side.

“A joke, Miss Schnee?”

“I requested an audience with Rose.”

The woman laughed.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, but just because you request something doesn’t mean you’re going to get it.”

Winter narrowed her eyes.

“Was there a reason that I was driven through downtown, looped through second, fourth, and twentieth street four times, and then down fifteen different turns just to end up across from the original building I arrived at, then?”

A smirk slowly stretched across the woman’s mouth.

“You’re quite observant for an Army brat.”

Winter bristled.  _ Alright, Dragon. If that’s how you want it. _

“If you’re just going to waste my time I will--”

“You’ll what?” she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest with a lazy sort of grace. “Go crying back to Daddy? You’re not playing with little leagues anymore, Schnee. So either buck up or fuck off, we don’t waste our time on upstarts like you.”

Winter smirked.  _ Hook, line, and sinker. _

“Bold words for a woman who spends her free time volunteering at Velvet’s daycare on twenty-fifth.”

Dragon’s eyes blew wide. In just an instant that condescending smirk was gone and her eyebrows had made a mad attempt at escape through the woman’s hairline. Just as she began to splutter a reply, laughter entered the room.

A teenage girl stood against the door, head thrown back in laughter so violent she was barely holding herself up. She couldn’t have been any older than 15, her cheeks still round with youth and her eyes almost comically large. To all appearances, she looked harmless-- ridiculous even, the blazer she wore all but swallowed her-- but Winter was not fooled. No one else had eyes that particular shade of grey.

Just like that, Dragon’s offence was replaced with a glare that could melt steel.

“Go fuck yourself,” she grumbled, though Winter wasn’t entirely sure to which of them she was referring to. Finally, Rose managed to catch her breath enough to stand.

“You’re dismissed, Yang,” she wheezed, wiping furiously at her eyes.

With her (figurative) tail tucked between her legs, the mighty Dragon of the Grimm took her exit, lock clicking behind her. Rose gave another peal of laughter before dropping into the now vacant chair.

Her smile was polite and her hands rested atop the desk calmly. They were small, dainty even, and her trademarked weapon was nowhere in sight.

Winter wasn’t sure if that was a good sign.

“Miss Schnee,” the name was spoken with a mischievous mirth that would’ve sent pixies running, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Miss Rose,” She settled on finally, if Rose wanted to play the game of pleasantries, so be it. “I must thank you for your hospitality.”

Rose’s smile twitched.

“But of course. When I heard that General Ironwood’s personal attack dog came for a visit, I made sure you were brought straight to me. I trust you found the trip pleasant?” Winter had expected mocking, and Dragon had delivered on that front. She hadn’t expected the strange, almost apologetic, undertone in Rose’s voice. Then again, that just served to further prove her hypothesis.

“Could’ve been smoother.”

Rose laughed once more, high and girlish and  _ warm _ . It wasn’t the laugh of a hardened criminal, but that of a school-girl.

“Honesty,” she managed finally, wiping a little at her eyes, “I find that quality quite charming.”

“Strange to hear coming from a mob-queen.”

Rose met her gaze, smile still firmly in place.

“Oh, but you don’t really believe that, do you?” The question was posed as if she already knew the answer. “You wouldn’t be here if you did.”

Winter straightened in her seat.

“You’ve read my file.”

“Of course!” Rose’s hands came up as she leaned forwards to rest on her elbows. “I like to keep a profile of potential threats. Besides,” she shrugged, “they can’t revoke my access to their files without first admitting I exist.”

Winter knew she should feel outraged, or the very least threatened, but she just couldn’t find the strength for it. Her loyalty to the Atlesian government was on the back-burner at  _ best _ , she had much more pressing concerns to deal with and if General Ironwood wouldn’t help her with them she’d have to seek out more… outside-the-box means.

“So tell me, Ms Schnee.” Rose placed one hand underneath her chin, resting there, smiling like the cat that ate the canary, “what are you doing here?”

Winter drew in a breath and steeled her nerves. There was no going back from this.

“I came to offer you a deal.”

Rose’s smile remained unaffected.

“What kind of deal?”

“I know that Jacques has been on your radar for quite some time.”

Rose snorted.

“He’s the richest man in Atlas, possibly the world, why wouldn’t he be?”

Winter rolled her eyes.

“I don’t just mean to rob.”

That got her attention. The smile faded, and her face grew much more serious. She straightened in her chair.

“What would give you that impression?” Her voice was laced with a faux innocence.

“I have read all your records, Miss Rose.” 

She had to play this carefully, one card too many out in the open and she could lose it all. “I know that after almost all of your previous robberies and high-profile crimes there has been a subsequent anonymous donation to several faunus communities and organizations in Mantle.” Rose’s browns rose. “You’ve been careful, sure. Multiple accounts, several shell companies, and dozens of codenames, but the timing is just a little too close for my tastes, not to mention the commonality of a blonde… dragon making an appearance just a few days before each drop.”

“Impressive,” Rose drew the word out, eyes never leaving her face. There wasn’t quite shock in her expression, but definitely a little surprise, “but I still fail to see how that paints me as an assassin.”

“You’re not,” Winter said, simple. “In fact, I’d argue you fancy yourself a bit of a modern-day Robin Hood. But I also know there’s a certain… cat… in your employ that may be a bit more fashioned for the job.”

Rose frowned.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” she acquiesced, “Suppose I  _ was _ planning a strike against Jacques. What would you gain? You’ve already been very publicly disowned and disinherited so even if he were to meet a sudden demise you’d, not only get nothing from it, but also likely be investigated as a prime suspect. So, let’s say we did carry out a hit against Mr Schnee.” Rose leaned forwards, voice low and threatening. “What would you get out of it? Other than your own self-satisfaction, of course.”

Winter swallowed, now or never.

“There is a prisoner in Schnee Manor.”

Rose froze.

“Come again?”

If Winter straightened any more she’d break her spine.

“There is a prisoner in Schnee Manor.” She repeated, meeting Rose’s gaze straight on, “I will provide any and all information you require to infiltrate the Manor and carry out a hit on Jacques. All I ask is you bring her to me, unharmed.”

Rose didn’t respond.

Her expression was troubled, eyebrows knit together as she sunk in her seat. The other fist came to rest on the desk, clutching onto it in a white-knuckled grip. She sucked in her bottom lip and chewed. After a minute of silence, her head rose once more.

“This… prisoner… who is she?”

Winter tugged on one of her sleeves.

“Does it matter?” she asked.

Rose narrowed her eyes. 

“If you expect me to honour this… deal… then I’m going to need more information.” 

Winter expected that answer, but that didn’t make it any more pleasant to comply. She clenched her fist.

“The second Schnee child.”

Rose’s eyebrows did a strange little dance.

“I wasn’t aware that Whitley was-”

“Not Whitley.” Winter corrected.

Rose’s eyebrows did another dance.

“Jacques had a bastard?”

Winter snorted.

“Willow had a bastard.”

Rose chuckled.

“She’s got more fire to her than I thought…”

Winter’s mirth evaporated like a dream. She shook her head, suddenly solemn.

“Fire is not the… word I would use.”

Rose’s smile turned back into a frown.

“Oh?”

Winter sighed, hard and harsh. Like pushing the breath from her lips was a physical strain. 

“It was a complicated matter, alright?”

Rose nodded slowly, brow still furrowed in contemplation.

“A prisoner… is that what you called her?”

Winter could feel her teeth and how they ached to grind together.

“Yes.”

Another nod.

“I assume your… father… is the reason for that?”

Winter’s patience was beginning to wear thin.

“Yes.”

Rose tapped a finger against the table, repetitive, perhaps even soothing.

“You said any information?”

Winter nodded, struggling to keep her temper in check. That was the one thing she’d inherited from her father that she hadn’t yet managed to shake.

Another contemplative nod, this one slower.

“It is a tempting offer.” She finally whispered. Her gaze slowly refocused upon her own. Her hands rejoined atop the table, folding over one another, fingers interlocked.

“But not enough.” Winter guessed.

Rose shrugged. 

“You’ve clearly done your research, I’ll give you that. In another life, I’d jump at the chance to help you simply on principle.” Those silver eyes shifted towards the floor. “However, in this one I have more than principle to worry about. I’d be sticking my neck out pretty far for almost no pay back. I do have a business to run.”

Winter pursed her lips.

“I can see about getting you access to all Schnee account funds. It’ll take some digging but-“

Rose’s hand rose, silencing her.

“I don’t mean money, Miss Schnee.”

She felt the temperature in the room drop a full ten degrees.

“Pardon?”

She half expected a reappearance of that polite smile, but instead was met with a solemn expression.

“You know a lot,” Rose whispered, “I can’t just let that slide, even if you are granting me a boon. I can get you your sister, and I can kill off Jacques, but I can’t let you go back to Ironwood with so many of my company secrets in your pocket.”

Well… she did know what she was getting into.

“You want me to join you.”

Rose nodded.

“It’s the best possible option I can give you. You join, you get to walk, you don’t…” she trailed off, “you’re not leaving this building unscathed.”

Winter contemplated.

This should’ve been a heavy decision, if you could even call it that. She’d given so many years of her life to the Academy. To Atlas. To Ironwood, who was as close to a father figure as she was going to get considering her hang-ups with her own.

However…

She found herself pushing the boundaries of the law more and more as of late.

She had seen the justice system fail, time and time again, in her merciless quest to save her sister.

She’d sat down with Ironwood, told him the problem point blank, and he’d told her that his hands were tied.

That was why she was here in the first place, because the law, the Academy, Ironwood, had failed her.

“No need to call in the guns,” she muttered, finding a strange peace in the lack of decision, “I know when I’m beat.”

Rose nodded, the corner of her mouth quirking just slightly.

“We’ll be in touch.” With that, she stood, offering out her right hand.

A handshake.

How businesslike.

Winter accepted.

Rose full-blown grinned.

“Firm grip.”

“I was trained by the best.”

She laughed.

“I’ll have Dragon escort you to your car,” she released her hand to rest it in her pants pocket. That smile once again firmly in place, “she could stand to get her ass handed to her more often.”

Winter snorted.

“There’s… ah… just one more detail…”

Rose’s eyebrows did that little dance once more.

“Oh?”

Winter went in for the kill.


	2. Chapter 2

Weiss glared at the black and white checkered board with the intensity of a hawk looking for its next meal. The white pieces towered over the black, losses cut like jagged lines across the board, openings abound and weaknesses aplenty. It wouldn’t take a mastermind to strike, to kill, to slaughter.

It would take one to live.

Her hand closed around a black rook, sliding it up four spaces and pausing, just for a second, before reaching the fifth.

“Check.”

The man across the board furrowed his brow, and without second thought, moved his king one space to the right.

He barely had time to lift his fingers from the piece.

Her knight snapped forwards and made a satisfying click as it hit the board.

“Checkmate.”

Klein laughed.

“A new personal best, Miss Schnee.” He carefully lifted a piece of chalk from the board sat next to the chess table, marking another tally by the small army of crisp white marks that denoted her victories. She’d only picked up chess in the past three months and she was already almost double Klein’s amount of wins. Soon she would exhaust all possible strategies and be left trying to find another hobby to add to her growing collection.

The room that Weiss Schnee called home could be called that only as a generosity. 

That wasn’t to say it wasn’t nice, more it was… chaotic. An originally cavernous room with walls twice the height that any sane person could possibly need and walls so far apart that ten people could stand with their arms outstretched and still be unable to touch each other was made small by the sheer amount of clutter stuffed into it.

The clutter was sorted, at least. Art projects stored in the rightmost corner, musical instruments and sheet music in the left. The more mathematical and scientific instruments were propped against the window beside her bed, and the wall of bookcases on the other were host to most of her attempts at writing when she’d gone through her teenage years.

There were other hobbies scattered throughout, of course. Her sewing machine was somewhere in the art corner, likely hiding underneath a couple half-finished paintings she’d given up on after spending upwards of thirty hours trying to learn anatomy from medical textbooks. A couple sets of jewellery were hung on one of her bedposts from a very brief stint in metalwork (she’d given that one up only because trying to convince the staff to allow her to build a forge in her room had proved fruitless). And, of course, her fencing equipment and rapier set beside the door, cleaned to a pristine shine.

The room was, in a word, packed. Hobbies and knickknacks spilt out all over each other in an attempt to keep the interest of a girl who was quickly finding that it didn’t matter what you did with all the free time in the world, you still found ways of being bored. Chess was just the latest foray into something with the attempt of keeping herself occupied enough she’d stop feeling the unbearable urge to go outside.

Because, despite all pretences, despite how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, she knew the unfortunate truth: this wasn’t a home. It wasn’t even a room.

It was a prison.

Oh, a beautiful prison, sure. All of her furniture pieces, the bed, the chairs, hell, even the damn chess table, were ornate, hand-carved and painted to the point of perfection. The walls, underneath the ridiculous amount of stuff over them, were a beautiful pattern of snowflakes and trees she’d begged for when she was five. The window, as covered as it was, was host to one of the greatest views in all of Atlas: the mountains and city of mantle far below and far removed from the scenery that she was currently surrounded.

But it was a prison nonetheless.

The window was a reminder of where she could not go, the walls were all each a meter thick to prevent her from getting any ideas, the door was host to four different locks, all of which had their mechanisms on the other side of the door. When she was a child she had been able to overlook such things, convince herself of them as protections rather than what they really were. Now, she chafed underneath the bonds every time she stopped so much as to think about their presence.

Klein placed the piece of chalk back in its tray, offering her a smile that, while genuine, held that edge of sadness that further confirmed the feeling of restlessness that was beginning to build between her temples.

“Would you like another round?” he asked, gentle. Patient.

Weiss resisted the urge to scream.

“No thank you, Klein,” she said instead, straightening in her chair and stretching slightly. Ignoring the flutter against her back as she did so was one thing, ignoring the resulting gust of wind that knocked over papers and other objects around the room was another. She winced and Klein reached up to try and stifle a snort.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I can see you smiling.”

Klein’s smile only broadened.

“I’m afraid that isn’t a vocal response that can be ‘shut’ Miss Schnee.”

Finally, Weiss let out a little snort of her own.

“You’re lucky I’m not my father.”

That got a full-blown chuckle from the man.

“We are all lucky for that.”

Weiss laughed.

Klein was one of the few things in her life that she was sure of. He was there, he’d always been there and, as far as she could tell, he’d always be there. Even in the aftermath of her sister’s vacancy, he’d stayed. He was the only one who stayed.

A buzz cut off her laughter and Klein’s face split in apology. He tugged out his scroll with a practised ease. 

“Master Schnee calls.”

Weiss nodded before offering her own apologetic smile as Klein rose from his chair. 

“Is there anything else on my schedule?”

The apologetic look on Klein’s face only deepened. 

“I’m afraid not, miss. Your next appointment is your fencing lesson this Friday with Mister Ebi.”

Weiss tried to ignore the pang of frustration in her chest. It was only Tuesday.

“Of course. Have a good day, Klein.”

He bowed his head and made his way to the door with a practised ease that none of the other house-staff quite managed to mimic. Even Winter, when she’d been around, had struggled to find her footing in her sister’s room among the often-shifting obstacles. Klein had put half of them there to begin with, so Weiss assumed that might’ve had something to do with it.

Finally, upon reaching the door Klein pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and went through the tedious motions of unlocking each of the four locks with their own separate keys.

Weiss didn’t quite understand the need for that, it wasn’t like she had anywhere to go if she did somehow manage to escape. There was no point really.

The last deadbolt slid into place and Klein opened the door with more effort than a standard bedroom door would’ve required. It resealed behind him with four clicks of finality.

Weis felt her shoulders slump and the two appendages attached to them fluttered in annoyance.

“Shut up.” She muttered.

No one answered.

She glared down at the board before her. Klein’s white king lay sideways on the board as he had a habit to do once he lost. With a practised ease she set about putting the pieces back into their neat little rows. Black on one side, White on the other, no losses cut between them. Soldiers prepared for an eternal battle that, no matter what victories were won, would always just start again. Any loss that happened was rectified in the matter of a single match.

_ “The thing about chess is that it is a game,”  _ Winter had said once upon a time, _ “but it prepares you for the real world. In the real world you have to cut your losses, have to be looking three or four steps ahead of every move. Just like chess.” _

It had been years before Weiss had even a passing interest in the game and the only reason the topic even came up was because she’d asked her sister why she always had meetings with Father on Wednesdays.

_ (“We play chess.” The words were smooth, Winter’s expression detached.  _

_ “Why?” She had asked. _

_ Winter had smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. It never did when their father was involved. _

_ “He wants to prepare me for the real world,” she’d said the words in that same detached way, but there was a fire in the depths of her eyes that didn’t match them.) _

She hadn’t argued with her because she didn’t know any better. If Winter said that, it had to be true. Her sister had nothing to gain from lying to her.

(She’d since learned that Winter had nothing to gain from her in general. She had no idea why she’d even humoured her for as long as she did.)

Now, though, Weiss found that she disagreed. Yes, chess was a game, but unlike in the real world, the losses were only temporary. You might lose the battle, but never the war. The wall of tallies under both hers and Klein’s names were proof of that. It had taken weeks for her to finally beat Klein, and during that time he’d wracked up an impressive number of marks. Even once she did have the ability to defeat him, it was a gruelling process and even more gruelling fight each time to earn another one. Overtaking his score had been a challenge, and he still managed to beat her from time to time, but that was alright.

Because Chess was a game.

Life wasn’t.

An exhale escaped Weiss’s lips once the pieces had been sorted once more. For a brief moment, she entertained the possibility of playing a round against herself, and then she let the idea die.

There was nothing to gain from that. There wasn’t anything to gain from anything in this room. Dull eyes swung over the stacks of items, searching desperately for something to spark her interest.

She found nothing.

Annoyance clawed at the back of her throat.

Her feet pushed herself upright and she ignored the sensation of the soft things on her back struggling to remain still with the shift in her balance. The steps to her bed were quick, deliberate, and filled with an ire that she carried more often than not these days.

She could try to call Whitley, but his interest in entertaining her had waned long ago and these days he was too busy to do anything more than growl at her to leave him alone. The bed sank beneath her weight and she flopped back against it, a large gust of wind following her down. More paintings, books, and papers clattered.

She could try to clean her room, but the past few attempts had taught her that she likely wouldn’t be able. There simply wasn’t enough room for her to make everything neat. Especially not with the extra space she needed just to be able to move. Finally, she resigned herself to taking a nap. Maybe later she’d be able to talk some of the staff into letting her go to the kitchen and attempt at making herself dinner. Her cooking could still use some work.

…

…

…

The silence was too much.

She sprang back from the bed and let herself revel in the feeling of  _ them  _ stretching out behind her. Great gusts of wind kicked up in their motion as she stretched them as high and as far as they would go. She could feel the feathers tickled by the edges of her curtains, the dust that wanted to nestle itself into the follicles of each individual one. A feeling of irritation surged within her.

She’d cleaned them just yesterday, they shouldn’t feel this stiff already.

A sigh escaped her as she shuffled around the room for a stool. Once she’d managed to locate it (buried beneath a pile of scarves she’d knit at some point when she was thirteen) she leapt atop it to perch.

When she’d been younger she’d tried her hardest to make the task look as human as she could-- her father already detested her enough without her having to remind him that  _ they  _ weren’t the only thing that set her apart from his expectations-- but as she got older and she started to realize that no matter what she did she’d never gain his acceptance, she’d stopped bothering with the frustrating positions and uncomfortable postures cleaning required.

When she’d reached fifteen she’d started cleaning the way that felt right, and she’d stopped caring if it made her father sneer at her.

He sneered at her enough when he thought she wasn’t looking anyway.

She started picking out loose feathers and bits of dirt and dust that had begun to collect.

It was a long process, it had always been, but when she’d hit puberty  _ they’d  _ started growing faster than she did. By the time she was fourteen they’d completely dwarfed her and cleaning had gone from a thirty-minute-to-an-hour process to a multiple hour one. Now it was laughable to think she could complete it in anything less than four. Most people would probably find that annoying, but she considered it a blessing in disguise.

At least when she was preening she was distracted.

Something to do.

It was getting harder to find those.

She was twenty now, she knew that, though there’d been no official celebration. When Winter had still lived with them she’d come around on her birthday, a small cupcake or other treat she’d snuck from the kitchen in hand. Klein had tried to keep the tradition alive after she’d left, but eventually Weiss had asked him to stop.

It just reminded her that she wouldn’t be coming back.

The only reason she knew how old she was, was, ironically enough, Whitley.

Father had never cared enough to keep track, and Klein was respectful enough of her wishes not to bring it up. Whitley… she would never accuse him of being fond of her, but she knew he wasn’t as callous or uncaring as he liked to pretend to be. Somewhere underneath that ‘perfect son’ act he’d adopted in order to get Father off his back he… well maybe he didn’t care… but he at least felt sorry for her.

That was the only explanation that she could conjure up for the short, clipped ‘happy birthday’ and flower she received each year from her brother.

Pity.

It was all she could hope for, she guessed.

She’d finished one and was half-way done with the other before there was a knock on her door.

Weiss froze, contorted so that she was standing on one foot and had the other risen far above her head while she clutched four feathers between her fists.

“Klein?” She called, puzzled.

The door clicked, several deadbolts sliding into place and Weiss quickly adjusted her position so that she wasn’t twisted up into a pretzel by the time it finally opened.

Sure enough, the man who walked through the door was, in fact, Klein, but he looked troubled in a way she hadn’t seen him look since... Winter left.

Something cold collected in her gut.

He closed the door behind him but didn’t bother locking it.

Something was definitely wrong.

Weiss leapt down from her perch and ignored the sudden and almost overwhelming urge to-- it was stupid and ridiculous anyway. There wasn’t nearly enough room in her room and even if there was, there was no guarantee she could even get off the ground.

“Klein…?” she asked again, cautious. Klein’s troubled expression took a few moments to focus on her. His eyes had changed to an earnest blue.

“I have… news… from your father…” 

Weiss felt her mouth go dry.

Father had stopped caring about her habits and actions at some point shortly after Winter left, probably because her well-being had been some sort of chess-piece in their never-ending game that ceased to matter once she’d stopped playing. The most she heard from him these days were complaints about her hobbies expenses or orders for when she was to remain as quiet as possible because he was entertaining guests. 

This… this was new.

“Oh…?” she asked and tried her hardest to keep the question from sounding afraid.

Klein nodded, still looking troubled.

“Master Whitley has reached an acceptable age to begin entertaining… guests…” he began, “and so Mister Schnee will require my presence more in the coming months than he has in the past…”

Oh.

That’s why.

He was leaving.

Just like her.

“I understand.” Weiss forced herself to straighten out, and she ignored the feathers fluffing up behind her. Ignored the burning beginning to make itself known in her eyes and throat. Ignored the urge to scream.

“-Not quite.” Klein interrupted her downward spiral with a furtive look. “He… your father is appointing you a new caretaker in the meantime.”

Weiss froze.

_ What? _

“What?!” 


End file.
